


Chibitalia and Chibiromano: Tales of Mischief

by zigglezoo3



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Chibitalia - Freeform, Multi, chibiromano, my bbs, oneshots, slice-of-life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:33:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zigglezoo3/pseuds/zigglezoo3
Summary: A oneshot booklet compiling random scenarios that happened throughout the Spanish and Austrian rule of the two seperate Italys. Expect a lot of cute fluff. Also, Romano's swearing.My god do I suck at summariesSpamano(platonic for now), HREtaly, and the weird ass love triangle of PruAusHun to be expected!Requests open, please R&R, and ENJOY!





	1. Artist in the Making

**Author's Note:**

> So requests are open, simply message me or put it in the comments. The first time I'm writing the Chibis, so go easy on me, okay?
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.

Chapter 1: Artist in the Making

Italy hummed quietly to himself as he swept the floor of the main hallway. Other than that, the only noise to be heard throughout HRE’s gigantic mansion was the swishing of the broom against the wooden floor. Seeing as not many people frequented the labyrinth of hallways, the only residents being little Italy, Austria, the Holy Roman Empire, and Hungary, there was always a thin layer of dust building up in the many corridors.

Sometimes, if Italy happened across some tucked-away room that he had forgotten to clean, he would find the whole room to be coated in a few inches’ layer of dust. Needless to say, those unfortunate happenings were a lot of work for Italy’s small hands.

The corridors themselves were rather barren, save for the wall lights, the chests of drawers, and of course the abundant oil and watercolour paintings that were hung every few metres or so.

The paintings themselves took up most of the space on the patterned walls. Fantastical landscapes and faraway kingdoms, summer countrysides and winter forests, all of them stood to attention from their high positions. Often, Italy found it very hard not to admire the magnificent pictures while he did his chores.

No matter how many times Italy’s observant eyes scrutinized the paintings, he was always blown away by their intense colour schemes and dazzling settings. He too enjoyed spotting the magical creatures that his among the dense underbrush or the high canopies. 

Oh, but how he wished he could draw like that!

Before Mr. Austria had taken young Italy into his custody, his Grandpa Rome had been responsible for his upbringing. Indeed, it was he that taught Italy all he knew about the arts.

Italy missed sitting beside his grandfather on warm summer afternoons, painting the beautiful Italian countryside with his soft words of advice and rough, calloused hands to guide him. His grandfather’s warm presence was always a source of comfort throughout Italy’s childhood, something familiar throughout the troubles of nationhood. 

His heart hurt thinking about his famiglia, so far away. How was his fratello doing? Italy had had to leave before he could be sure. 

Drawing, other than singing or dancing, gave him a distraction from his homesickness. It was something constant that kept both his mind and hands busy. 

If anything, he simply wanted a scrap of paper to sketch on. He hadn’t really gotten the chance to show anything to the other residents of the house. Italy wasn’t really sure whether Holy Rome would be interested in his art, and Austria or Hungary had seen his pencil sketches, let alone his paintings. But then again, there was also the question of whether Austria would give him anything to draw with at all, considering the stunt he had pulled last week.

Italy giggled to himself as he remembered the horrified look on Mr. Austria’s face when he happened upon the ruined portrait of himself, vandalized by no other than the tiny, delicate hands of Italy Veneziano. Well, he supposed he also had the help of that can of ink.

But just black ink?

No, it wasn’t enough to draw effectively. Maybe, if he had a fountain pen, which he didn’t.

Italy remembered Grandpa Rome had always told him that practice was the key. Even if he wasn’t there with Italy, practice would always be his guide to improvement.

And so, when he wasn’t doing his many chores, the child spent most of his time outside observing his surroundings. There were so many places around the house, in Holy Rome’s land-body, that were perfect to paint!

Sometimes, if he was really desperate for something to do, Italy would resort to drawing in the dirt with a stick. However, he soon found that brown didn’t really suit the sky very much. 

Again, Italy’s thoughts strayed to the wonderful oil paint that all the best artists used. Red, yellow, blue, the endless colours that he could get by simply mixing the three of them in a palette.

How great it would be if-

Italy was pulled out of his thoughts by a sudden crash that resounded around the empty hallway. Panicked, Italy searched around for the broken vase so that he could clean it up before Mr. Austria saw it, but he found that it hadn’t been him who had knocked it down.

There was a clamor of noise that originated from behind the closed door in front of the small nation. Still holding his broom, Italy glanced up at the metal plaque that would state the purpose of a room if it was important.

Meeting Room. Of course. 

Mr. Austria had informed both Miss Hungary and him about his conference today, and that they shouldn’t disturb him, the archduchess, and the other guests. The loud shouting and banging coming from inside the room was actually no real surprise to Italy; all too often he had been the one caught in the crossfire as he attempted to serve tea.

Italy was about to move past the door when he hesitated. His childish curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t any interest for politics, but maybe, maybe, he could get lucky and find a stub of charcoal, maybe a slip of unused parchment too. He felt a bit guilty about stealing, but Italy reassured himself that surely they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of paper…

Italy stood up on his toes in order to reach the brass doorknob. As soon as he pushed the wooden door inwards, Italy’s senses were bombarded with the chaos that was the meeting room. Italy’s eyes widened in surprise, he soon realized that the noise was much louder than what he had initially thought. It almost reached such a deafening volume he couldn’t hear his own heartbeat.

Everyone present in the room was either shouting at the top of their lungs or staying well away from the commotion in order to remain unscathed.

Austria himself was one of the latter, watching from the sidelines with an expression of distress marring his usually-calm demeanor. 

Italy quickly ducked behind the door as one of the saucers smashed against the wood above his head.

No wonder Mr. Austria told us to keep away, Italy thought, worried for the safety of everyone in the room.

But, much to the aspiring artist’s delight, pieces of parchment were flying askew in all directions. Italy snatched a few of them from the air when they passed the doorway, and hugged them all to his chest. 

Italy would also have darted in to grab a pencil, but seeing the war unfolding before his eyes, he thought that maybe just ink would do for now. He could always just sneak into Mr. Austria’s study with the excuse that he was cleaning. Again, a slight feeling of guilt.

Italy abruptly stepped back, broom and parchment in hand, and shut the door with a tight click. He was eager to leave the meeting confined in that room, thank you very much. Almost immediately the sound of war was muffled through the walls.

With a small, relieved huff, Italy scampered away to the kitchen as fast as his short, stubby legs and billowing green dress would allow. Maybe Miss Hungary would have a kitchen chore for him.

-

It was a bright, sunny afternoon when Italy decided to use his newfound ‘resources’. He had taken a charcoal pencil from Mr. Austria’s study; Italy was sure he wouldn’t miss just one. Italy had also borrowed a hardback book from the library to keep behind the paper and ensure it from breaking.

The sheet he wanted to use had evidently flitted past the fireplace, there were vague burn marks along one side. Italy was using it as he figured that he should save the others for something more important.

Pressing the pencil into the parchment, Italy watched the fragile tip break slightly, leaving a dark mark on the light yellow. 

Now, what to draw?

The countryside, although beautiful, simply wasn’t a good choice of subject when he only had a pencil to draw with. He needed a figure. An object. A tree? No, it had no grace. An animal? Moved around too much.

Italy was suddenly struck with an idea. No use suggesting things to himself when he could just look around, right?

He got up from the stone bench before he made his way around to the back of the house. He ran his hand along the wall as he went, enjoying the countryside.

Once there at the backyard, he was met with the sight of Miss Hungary’s training grounds. Often, Prussia would visit and spar with her(when he wasn’t off conquering vital regions, of course). Austria wasn’t very thrilled when he’d been informed, probably still bitter from the Austro-Prussian war that had happen a couple of decades back. It was definitely only because of Hungary, he didn’t want to hold back her training. She was the one always protecting him, after all.

Italy was usually happy to see the albino nation. He treated Italy like a fellow soldier, not like the child he appeared to be. He still called him ‘kid’, though, and Miss Hungary always stopped Prussia from being too rough with him. When Italy had first attempted to call him ‘Mister’, Prussia had just laughed uproariously and patted young Italy on the head with his unnaturally pale hand. “Just Prussia, kid.” was fine too, apparently. 

Prussia was here that day, too. 

The sound of his and Hungary’s practice battle rebounded against the surrounding trees magnifying it, sending the sound through to all the surrounding hills. Even from far away, Italy would have been petrified if he hadn’t known better. The clang of metal on metal could be heard among the playful threats coming from both parties’ mouths. Prussia, of course, was the more boastful of the two. They both looked so consumed in the heat of the battle, Italy was afraid to break their concentration. They exchanged blows which would have been deadly, had they not owned years of military experience fighting to protect and conquer.

“Psh, Hungary, you really thought you could get me with that?” Prussia laughed, dodging Hungary’s sudden thrust. “It seems you haven’t been improving at all! No, quite the opposite,” Prussia grinned as he parried another one of the other’s attacks. 

“No indeed, I was just getting your guard down!”

She was quite correct in that, as not two seconds later the tip of Hungary’s saber was pressed against the red-eyed country’s throat. She had gotten under his guard while he had been talking, something that he often did on the battlefield. It was fortunate that most of the soldiers he faced were young, inexperienced buffoons. Only sometimes, when facing a real enemy, did he drop his happy-go-lucky façade.

Prussia chuckled, dropping his sword and raising his arms in surrender. 

“Hmph. It seems you’ve been getting better after all..! Not everyone can defeat this hunk of awesomeness!”

Hungary rolled her eyes, but smiled warmly nonetheless.

Italy watched their banter from a bench across from the makeshift battle arena. Hungary, being very graceful in battle, was the perfect choice for a model to draw. Prussia too, Italy supposed. Despite the albino’s annoying and unnecessary boasting, he really was exceptionally talented and ruthless in battle. 

Italy watched them closely, and once he had gotten the overall base positions for the figures he worked on the clothes and detailing. The shading came after that as well.

This is just a rough drawing, Italy thought. Maybe when I get paint, I can make it a real work of art.

Italy was just finishing the faces off when the piece of paper was snatched out of his hands. So involved was he in his drawing that he didn’t notice both of the sweat-drenched nations coming towards him. The sun had already set behind the far hills, the trio had spent all afternoon outside. Prussia was the one who had taken the paper, of course.

Italy stood up on the stone bench, trying in vain to take the drawing back from Prussia. The latter, however, held it well away from the child’s reach. Italy felt tears in his eyes. Prussia was going to tease him, wasn’t he? He was going to say how ugly the whole thing looked, how Italy didn’t get anything right. The arms were probably too fat, the swords too wonky…

But for once Prussia was quiet. His eyes roved the parchment, for what Italy wasn’t really certain. Gilbird twitted shrilly from his perch on Prussia’s shoulder. Surprisingly, Prussia held the piece of paper carefully, not like he was about to rip it into shreds.

Then his face broke out into a huge grin. “Mein Gott, Hungary, look at this! I didn’t know the kid could draw!”

Confused, Italy wiped the water from his eyes. Did that have a hidden meaning, or…?

It didn’t seem like it. Prussia passed the paper to Hungary, who’s face too cracked into a smile. She glanced at Italy, still holding that warm expression. 

“Wow, Italy! This is really good!” 

Italy swallowed thickly. They weren’t making fun of him? Usually, all the human kids he’d met had torn his sketchbook from him, either dropping it into a puddle of water, snickering, or ripping the pages out while actively insulting his hard work.

“You guys really think so?” He asked quietly, eyes wide. 

“Yeah!” Prussia volunteered, still grinning. “You even included Gilbird! That’s always a ten outta ten in my books.”

“Although..” The albino’s grin faltered for a moment, as he looked over the sketch once more. “You did get my jaw a bit wrong.” Prussia rubbed said jaw unconsciously.

“That’s ‘cause you were talking too much, ve~!”

Hungary openly laughed at the witty comment, elbowing Prussia in the ribs smugly. He grumbled at the abuse, but anyone could see he wasn’t taking it to heart. Prussia never did.

She then scooped up the child nation into her arms with ease, and the three of them made their way back to the front of the house. 

“But really, Italy, you don’t think your drawing is good?” Hungary glanced down at him, frowning slightly.

Italy shrugged embarrassedly, staring down at the gravel underfoot. He fiddled with the green fabric of his dress.  
Prussia reached over Hungary’s shoulder to ruffle the little Italian’s hair through the head covering, still grinning in what he thought was an encouraging manner. Really, it was just terrifying. Hungary gave him a warning look. He chuckled a bit, retracting his arm sheepishly.

“You’d better go, before Austria sees you,” She snorted at him. “God knows you’re more trouble than you’re worth!” Prussia laughed again with his rough voice, but he promised to leave as soon as they got to the front gate.

“But really, kid, I haven’t met many people that can draw as good. But still, even your drawing cannot compare to mein awesomeness!”

Hungary rolled her eyes again, then raised Italy up so his eyes were on the same level as hers.

“If you keep drawing like that, maybe he’ll allow you some more paper. I’ll show him this one, see what he thinks.” She smiled at him again.

Italy immediately perked up at the statement. If he could get paper, why not a canvas? A charcoal pencil, why not paint?

“Say, Ms. Hungary…” Italy hesitated. But before he could voice his suggestion, Hungary seemed to read his thoughts perfectly. 

“Canvas and paint, hm? I’ll ask Austria, but we’ll see if the old grouch’ll allow it.” She winked conspiratorially at Italy, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

Perhaps the young Italy really could pursue his aspirations to be an artist! Even if he had to work at Holy Rome’s... For Austria…

But that was what revolutions were for, right?

 

 


	2. Cleaning Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yAy my spam fam lol  
> But still, in this booklet it'll be platonic brotherly 'cause I don't really want to get a lawsuit for pedophilia. Short chapter, I know, deal with it. Kinda a crack chapter lol
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia:Axis Powers, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.

Romano had scoffed as soon as he had seen the broom in Spain’s hands. The much older empire had spent the last half hour digging through the storage room at the back of his house, for what the stubborn nation hadn’t known. It was making a racket though, so of course he would shout at Spain about it later. Spain didn’t mind. 

Romano side-eyed the piece of wood critically. To be frank, he had never touched one of the alien pieces of machinery in his life. But Spain didn’t need to know that. 

“What the heck do you want me to do with that?” Romano asked, mouth full of the half-eaten tomato in his hand. His face was scrunched up characteristically. 

“I want you to clean, of course! What do you normally do with a broom?” Spain laughed, as if he thought Romano’s grumpiness to be just a little joke. He held it out in front of his torso perfectly, like he was used to this sort of thing. But the broom looked well worn anyway, and it was probably the Spanish bastard who had to do the cleaning around the house before South Italy arrived.

Romano found himself scrutinizing the position unconsciously. Where Spain placed his hands, how his back was perfectly straight. Upon catching himself he quickly looked away, face flushed with embarrassment that he hoped the oblivious Spaniard would not catch. 

Romano decided to ignore Spain’s statement to save his pride, and he finished the juicy tomato instead. Upon finishing, he glanced back up at Spain in disdain.

“I wouldn’t do anything with it.” Romano deadpanned. He then got up from the couch in order to get another tomato. The green-eyed nation sighed in exasperation and called out to his back.

“Oh, come on, chico! You know how to sweep right? You’re kinda useless to me any other way..” Spain whined at him.

Romano exhaled sharply, fighting back the urge to go back up to the bastard and punch his head in. His tiny hands started to ball into fists, which would have been hilariously adorable if they weren’t capable of mutating your face beyond recognition.

“Fine!” He spat, stalking back to the taller country, whose face had broken into another one of his stupid wide grins. Complete with the pearly teeth too. Ugh. The smooth fabric of Romano’s pink dress rippled as he ripped the broom from the other’s hands, still scowling in indignation. 

Spain chuckled quietly at the sight, much to the smaller’s growing anger.  
“You owe me one for this, idiota!” Romano hissed over his shoulder at the Spaniard, who was by now trying not to burst into hysterical laughter.

-

Romano couldn’t figure out how to hold the stupid broom. Each angle he attempted to hold it, it was either too long or too uncomfortable to hold. Romano hissed a word that no child who looked his age should know under his breath, before throwing down the useless stick onto the cobblestone that paved the path outside of Spain’s house. Romano had thought the yard might be a good place to start. He was very disappointed, if not by the sheer number of fallen leaves, then by the thick dust that was swirling around in the strong breeze.

The broom made a large clatter. The not-so-little child then planted himself on his butt beside it, hands crossed and legs folded underneath him. He cursed everything under his breath, from the broom to the trees to Spain’s sorry ass(or at least will-be.). He didn’t want to go back inside, stupid Spaniard was more intuitive than he looked. Romano at least had a scrap of pride inside him, unlike that guy.

Romano felt himself falling utterly helpless, and he hated it. Oh great, now there was a lump in his throat. Pretty soon he was sure some water in his eyes would make itself known as well, wouldn’t it? Stupid mortal human kid body.

Just then, he heard the heavy footfalls of Spain’s leather boots against the grey stone behind him. Romano whirled around to face him, hastily wiping his tears on his dress sleeve. He kept his eyes on the ground, refusing to meet the other’s gaze in fear it would give away all his emotions.

He could see Spain bending down to his eye level. Oh, how he hated being short.

The taller nation tilted Romano’s head slightly upwards, so that emerald eyes could stare into hazel. They were crinkled at the edges, following the strange curved line that was Spain’s mouth. The expression was so familiar and comforting on the empire, it gave him the sense of humanity that most nations were unable to attain because they were..well..inhuman. Romano looked away hastily.

He didn’t believe in all the ‘window-to-the-soul’ nonsense, but he didn’t want the taller country to go around reading his mind anytime soon either. 

“What’s wrong, chico? Something bothering you?” Spain’s voice and expression had softened, and his arm had returned to rest on his knee. 

“N-none of your business, bastard!” Romano scowled, though he knew it was unconvincing.  
Spain’s eyes followed down to Romano’s arms, which had hurriedly picked up the broom.

He chuckled softly again, and brought the broom in front of the Italian. “Here,” he offered quietly.

Spain repositioned Romano, fixing his hands and making sure his back was straight. “See? There! Now that isn’t so hard, right?” Spain exclaimed loudly, pleased with his handiwork. Romano hissed back at him, reverting to his old self.

“No, it isn’t, not when you’re the one that’s not cleaning!”He huffed to prove his point, but underneath his mask Romano was deeply grateful for Spain’s help. He knew that the Spaniard wouldn’t judge him for what he did or didn’t know, despite being a bastard and an idiot.

Spain seemed to sense this, as he clapped Romano on the back as a sign of support. Said country rolled his eyes, annoyed. 

“Now, is there anything else you want me to teach you, muchacho?” Spain asked good-naturedly, straightening up and looking around the courtyard.

Romano sighed, glancing down at his feet before staring at Spain’s polished boots in reluctance.

“I… I……. I need you to teach me how to dust.. And clean windows… And do anything that involves work..” Romano forced the words out of his mouth and swallowed, hoping to relieve his parched throat. 

Much to his indignance, Spain burst out into loud guffaws, clutching his stomach and wheezing for air.

Romano, embarrassed beyond belief, turned the same shade of red as the tomatoes he loved and kicked hard at Spain’s shin(ouch) before running back to the house screaming “Vaffanculo!” Over his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chico & muchacho = spanish for boy  
> idiota = pretty self explanatory, Italian for idiot  
> Vaffanculo! = Italian for Fuck You!


	3. Nightmares, Chico?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romano can't sleep, and he isn't about to tell that crapwad jerk-bastard Spain about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Sorry for not updating, been caught up with moving house. I've noticed that you guys prefer the Romano oneshots, so here you are i guess! STRICTLY PLATONIC GUYS. At least, until little Roma grows up a little *wink wonk*
> 
> God, I really love nightmares, don't I?
> 
> Anyway, requests are open, DM me, and enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia:Axis Powers, it belongs to Himaruya Hidekaz and all other publishers.

Chapter 4: Nightmares, Chico?

Romano woke up in a cold sweat, dark brown locks matted against his drenched forehead. Sweat ran off his small frame in rivulets, causing his nightclothes to stick to his body. The coarse fabric rubbed uncomfortably against his skin as he moved to peer underneath the blanket for that one stupidly embarrassing wet spot he was almost sure would exist there.

The young colony blinked in surprise. The sheets were clean. Well, that was a... Pleasant surprise.

He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding and leaned back on the headrest. He studied the ceiling blankly, not at all feeling like going back to bed.

"Great." Romano muttered sourly. "Keep this up, and I'll have eyebags as big as Sicily." He paused as a thought crossed his mind, and snickered.

'Pft. I'll look just like that jerk-bastard idiota! Ugly as shit.' He shuddered involuntarily. He'd do anything to distance himself from that fool and his omnipresent grin.

With some difficulty, the gangly nation spirit managed to untangle himself from the sheets and drop off from the edge of his bed. He peeked cautiously out of his doorway to ensure there was no one in the corridor. He hardly needed to, though, there was no chance anyone would be up at such an ungodly hour of the morning.

He padded down the hallway quietly, bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. He didn't bother looking into the other doorways, having already memorized the way to his destination by heart.

It was deathly quiet in that jerk Spain's room, the only discernible sound being the steady, soft snores of said Spaniard.

For a second, Romano contemplated jumping onto the bed and stealing all the blanket-space. Surely the Italian wouldn't have any troubly sleeping then, would he?

As quick as that thought flitted by, it was shoved aggressively to the back of Romano's mind. No way was he sleeping in the same bed as that sorry excuse for a conquistador! That dumb crapwad would only get more material to blackmail and tease him with, and Romano would probably never see the end of it.

"Silly little Romano, can't even fall asleep without wetting the bed! Are you still such a baby that you need an adult sleeping beside you? Tsk! After so long, I'd have expected you to have grown up a bit."

Romano scoffed. He wasn't going to allow himself to be goaded like that! He pushed the tiny crack in Spain's door wider out of spite. He winced and thought twice about it when a piercing creak cut through the silence like one of Spain's sabers.

The Italian hurried past the door, grimacing.

What do people do when they can't sleep? The question bobbed to the surface of Romano's mind like a hat adrift on the ocean.

'Drink milk!' 'Have an existential crisis!' 'Cry yourself to sleep!' 'Jump off a roof!' 'Just take a walk outside, dumbass.'

Out of all the unnervingly-cheerfully voiced suggestions, the walk seemed like the most rational one.

Romano made a break for the backdoor, shivering when the cool night air hit his skin. The courtyard looked eerily peaceful at night, the trees' branches swaying gently, undisturbed.

The young colony slowly made his way around the labyrinth of a garden to his favorite spot; a bench underneath the largest oak tree in the entire garden. The plant spread its branches over his head invitingly, the leaves a blanket covering him and his thoughts.

Romano settled onto the bench with a quiet, almost inaudible sigh.

It was on nights like these that Romano wished his brother was here beside him. Yes, he was loud, and yes, he was obnoxious, and yes, he could ramble annoyingly for hours on end, but he was Romano's little brother. Northern Italy was actually quite perceptive for first impressions. He knew when he had to be the listener and not the talker. There was just something familiar about him that comforted Romano in a way that Spain never could. Nothing could ever sever the bond and companionship the two brothers shared.

The chirping of the crickets and whistling of the nighttime wind was just about to lull Romano's eyes closed when he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder, along with a concerned "You okay, chico?" in that familiar accented voice Romano knew too well.

The Italian groaned in annoyance, eyes snapping open to glare at the aforementioned Spaniard. "Great, you jerk! Just when I was finally going to sleep, you had to come along and ruin my siesta!" He hissed.

Spain's hand flinched back, eyes widened in surprise. He swallowed thickly, wounded gaze flicking away from Romano to the floor for a few seconds. If he wasn't so stubborn, Romano might have admitted to that tiny twinge of guilt he felt at causing the older nation's apprehension.

Apparently deciding that annoying Romano wasn't the way to go(said Italian thoroughly approved of that statement), Spain switched tactics.

"Romano... What are you doing out here at this time? Alone, as well!" His tone had reverted back to concerned as he chided the child. "You really worried me, kiddo. Especially when I couldn't find you in your room!"

The shorter nation spirit huffed annoyedly and folded his arms across his chest. "I couldn't sleep, jerk. Another one of those stupid dreams that are too retarded to be any fun."

The silence that followed was tangible. Romano was sure he could have sliced through it using another one of the Spaniard's weapons of mass colonization.

"Niño," Spain started, after a long pause consisting of what the Italian guessed was just the man staring at him. "You had a nightmare? Why didn't you tell me?"

Some of Spain's vast reservoirs of confusion and worry had started to leak into his speech as he sat down on the bench and scooted closer to Romano. Said colony shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny.

Spain's big, hurt green eyes stared at him and Romano was finding it harder to suppress that spike of guilt as it appeared again, stronger than ever. He resolutely remained staring forward at the nature in front of him. He eventually caved in though, never being one to survive for long under pressure.

"I...didn't want to wake you up." The colony admitted quietly. "You...seemed like you were enjoying your sleep."

Spain reeled back, mouth agape in a shocked "O". If Romano hadn't been so goddamn tired he might've laughed out loud.

But to the colony's lasting horror and surprise, the older nation swiftly pulled him in for an abrupt hug. Romano flailed and struggled in the other's vice grip, gasping, a look of utter mortification apparent on his face. "G-get off me, bastard!" He spluttered, attempting in vain to pry the strong arms off him.

Spain chuckled lightly into Romano's mess of hair, before finally giving him some time to breathe. The young nation spirit glared at him, but anyone could see it was quite halfhearted and forced. Spain made a show of roughing up Romano's hair further, and pulled him close, laughing all the while. His laughter eventually petered out, and it was replaced by rare fondness that was seldom seen on the old nation, even when the two were alone together.

"Ey, chico? Don't be afraid to wake me up when you need to, 'kay? I promise I won't get mad." Romano rolled his eyes at the pure sap on display. "You had me really worried there, kiddo."

"Yeah, yeah," Romano waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it, I'm not some kid who can't take care of his own ass."

The southern colony could see Spain observing him out of the corner of his eye. It was only when he shivered after a particularly cold blast of wind that Spain made any move to go back to the house. He took Romano's hand gently, tugging it.

Romano scoffed indignantly. "I told you I'm not a kid!"

"Yeah, but you sure act like one when you're cranky!" Spain grinned. "Vamos, muchacho, let's get you to bed. I can sleep beside you, if you want. How does that sound?"

"Stupid, that's how." Romano grumbled, though he didn't really mean it.

Even though the Italian complained, he made no move to extract his hand from Spain's grasp, though it surely would have been an easy task. If the Spaniard noticed it(he probably did, let's be real here), he didn't say anything about it.

And if Romano was being honest? The sleep he had that night, with Spain's annoying-but-warm-and-comforting presence beside him, might've been the best he's had that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mini Dictionary: Spanish-English
> 
> Chico, niño, muchacho - kid, kiddo, boy, lad
> 
> Idiota - Spanish and Italian for idiot
> 
> Vamos, muchacho - Come on, kid
> 
> Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this ^^. Hope you enjoyed reading!
> 
> -Ziggles, signing out!-


End file.
